A Secret Surrender Read online

  “We’ll have nothing,” Beatrix said, sounding defeated.

  “Close to, yes. I’m sorry.”

  Beatrix came toward her. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the Season, not compared to what you’ve lost.” She fell silent a moment, and Selina feared her throat would crack under the pressure of unshed tears. “Will he forgive you?”

  A near-hysterical laugh bubbled in Selina’s chest, but she didn’t let it out. “Why should he? I betrayed him horribly.”

  “Do you love him?” Beatrix asked.

  Love. Selina barely knew what that felt like, and that was only sibling love. Romantic love? She’d never experienced it. She’d never expected it. But she knew pain, and she absolutely felt that. Not for herself, but for the hurt she’d caused Harry. How she wished she could take it all away, to make it so that she’d never deceived him.

  Selina swallowed, wishing the ball of emotion clogging her throat would go away. “It doesn’t matter. There is no hope. There never was any.”

  Beatrix put a hand on her hip. “Why not? You are free to choose what you do, and a life with Harry would be comfortable and, dare I say, happy. Especially since he loves you too.”

  Scrubbing her hand across her forehead, Selina pressed her lips together. “He doesn’t. He’s likely going to arrest me.”

  “He would have done so already.” Beatrix smiled. “Ergo, he loves you.”

  “How can he?” Selina raised her voice, which she almost never did. “I stole from his mother. I lied to her and to him. We—” She couldn’t bear to say what they’d done together. The moments they’d shared in each other’s arms were the happiest she’d ever known. And now the guilt that accompanied them nearly drove her to her knees.

  Gasping, Selina clapped her hand over her mouth. But it was useless. The tears came again, streaming down her face unchecked. Beatrix wrapped her arms around her and held her tight. Though Selina was much taller, she leaned her head against her sister’s—for she was her sister in every way that mattered—and let the emotion flow out of her.

  After some time, Selina finally took a step back. She wiped her hands over her face, but she really needed a handkerchief. “Who knew I could be such a watering pot?” She tried to smile, but the attempt failed.

  “It’s lovely, actually,” Beatrix said, sounding far more positive than anyone ought. “You need a bath and some tea with brandy. Perhaps not in that order. Then you’ll sleep. We’ll return the money, get the jewels back, and make things right with Harry.”

  Selina nodded, though she knew the last was not possible. Nothing would ever be right with Harry, nor should it be. She’d glimpsed joy for the first time, and now she knew her suspicions were true: happiness was not for her.

  * * *

  The last five days blurred together in Harry’s mind. He still couldn’t quite believe the woman he’d fallen in love with—for surely he had—had lied to him so thoroughly and easily.

  When he’d gone into the Magistrates’ Court the day after he’d learned the truth, he’d been shocked to find a package had been delivered to him containing nearly all the jewelry that had been stolen, along with a note saying the last piece would arrive soon.

  “Soon” had ended up meaning three days, since the bracelet Beatrix had stolen from the woman at Spring Hollow had just been delivered yesterday. Harry had returned it to the victim, who’d been most grateful.

  He should have arrested Beatrix and Selina by now. Why hadn’t he? Though the stolen items had been returned, the sisters—no, they weren’t even sisters—had still committed crimes.

  Because you can’t bring yourself to do it.

  Which made him a terrible constable. Contributing to that was the fact he hadn’t been able to find Frost. Harry had come to Saffron Hill nearly every day in an effort to find the man. So far, he’d proved as elusive as the bloody Vicar.

  Despite that, Harry would continue his search. He strode into a court off Saffron Hill and began asking after Frost. Some people knew of him while others didn’t. Those who did could only offer suggestions of places that Harry and Remy had already checked—and were keeping watch over.

  Harry walked into a small tavern, the Lantern, and instantly recognized it was a flash house. Several women noted his entry and exchanged looks. Harry watched as they silently communicated who would claim him as their quarry.

  Then he recognized one of them. Crossing the common room, Harry stopped in front of a dark-haired woman with familiar dark eyes. “If it isn’t Mrs. Winter,” he said. “You’re a long way from Ivy Lane.”

  Her lips parted, and panic flashed in her gaze.

  Harry took her arm. “Come and sit with me.” He guided her to a table and put her in a chair. He sat down beside her. Another woman appeared at the table. She wore an apron, and Harry assumed she was a serving maid. “Two ales, please,” Harry said. “Though I suspect Mrs. Winter here may prefer gin.” He could smell it on her.

  “Who’s Mrs. Winter?” the maid asked. “That’s Theresa.”

  “Yes, who is Mrs. Winter?” Harry mused. He looked toward Theresa, who seemed to shrink beneath his attention.

  The maid took herself off, and Harry said nothing more as he waited for Theresa to speak.

  “What do you want?” she finally asked.

  “Who are you, and why were you pretending to run a charity for children?”

  “You know who—or wot—I am,” she said, her voice coarser than he recalled from the Home for Wayward Children. But then, she’d been playing a part.

  “You aren’t a Mrs. at all, are you?” Harry asked, perhaps unnecessarily. “Who is Mr. Winter?”

  “Luther’s a friend. ’E paid me to pretend to be ’is wife.”

  “He paid you?” How was he involved with Madame Sybila? Rather, Selina. Harry stiffened as the nearly ever-present sense of betrayal swept through him. “Not a fortune-teller?”

  Theresa sniffed. “That fortune-teller’s a right bitch.”

  Despite Harry’s anger toward Selina, this woman’s insult raised his hackles. He pushed that aside to do his bloody job. This woman knew Madame Sybila or Selina or, probably, both. “Why?”

  “She used poor Luther. The sot’s in love with ’er. ’E paid me to do the job, but I don’t even think she paid ’im.”

  “What of the children?” Harry was particularly concerned about them and where they were now. Some of them had been quite small.

  “Those wot ’ad parents are back with them. I s’pose she paid ’em, or so Luther said. ’E’d also say the sun shone out of ’er arse.”

  “And the children without parents?” Harry asked.

  Theresa shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  The serving maid dropped two tankards on the table, sloshing ale over the sides in her haste.

  Hefting her mug, Theresa took a long drink. “Actually, one of the girls lives a few doors over. She lodges with a friend or somethin’.”

  “You said Luther—Mr. Winter—is in love with the fortune-teller?” Did Selina love him in return? Had everything between her and Harry been a lie? He had to assume so. Perhaps she was with this other man even now. Why would she pay him if she planned to share her earnings?

  “Known each other since they were children, ’e said. ’E’s always loved her, but she doesn’t love ’im back as far as I can tell. Like I said, she used ’im.” Theresa curled her lip before drinking more ale.

  “Where can I find Mr. Winter now?”

  Theresa smacked the tankard back on the table with a laugh. She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Mr. ‘Winter.’” She sniggered. “That’s not even ’is name. You ’ave to look for Luther Frost.”

  Winter… Frost… It was as if the names caused ice to form in Harry’s veins. Could he be the same Frost that Harry was looking for?

  Harry leaned slightly toward her. “Where can I find Frost? He lives in this neighborhood, yes?”

  “Sometimes. ’E comes in ’ere from time to time. That�
�s ’ow we met a few years back. ’Aven’t seen him since we finished the job.”

  “And when was that?”

  Theresa scrunched her features. “I’m not good with days. Wot’s today?”

  “Tuesday,” Harry said patiently. “A week ago, maybe?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  It was just over a week ago that Harry had heard about Bow Street investigating the robberies in Mayfair. Had Selina known about the investigation and decided to abandon her criminal enterprises?

  The reminder that she’d done all of it right under his very nose turned his stomach. Apparently, she’d never been concerned he’d discover the truth. Why would she? He’d been thoroughly smitten, completely under her spell. Perhaps her role as a mystical woman was not entirely false.

  No, Harry didn’t believe that. He was a fool, but she was just a woman. A woman who’d intrigued and manipulated him from the very start. He thought back to how they’d met. Had she even tripped into him by accident? Then the next time he’d seen her, she’d been walking on Mount Street near his parents’ house. Another coincidence he didn’t believe. Everything she’d said and done had been a lie.

  And yet, he also thought of the small things she’d revealed, both as herself and as Madame Sybila. She’d been a lost child, an orphan, a victim of a horrible act perpetrated by her employer when she’d worked as a governess. He’d considered whether all those were lies, but somehow, he didn’t think they were. Perhaps that made him even more of a fool.

  “You need anythin’ else?” Theresa asked. She scooted her chair closer to his. “We could go upstairs.” Her ale-and-gin-soaked breath wafted toward him.

  “No, thank you.” He gave her a few coins. “If you see Frost or know where I can find him, send word to Bow Street. I’ll pay you more if your information leads me to find him.”

  She quickly pocketed the coins. “Ask the fortune-teller. She’d probably know where to find him.”

  Yes, she probably would. As much as Harry didn’t want to see Selina again, he would have to.

  He stood and stalked from the tavern. Outside in the court, he took in the animals and people—adults and children—along with the dirt and disrepair. Was this how Selina had grown up? The thought of her in a place like this tightened his chest. He’d always believed that criminals weren’t born as criminals. Circumstance played a large part in what people chose to do—what they had to do.

  He wanted to know what had driven Selina to become who she was today. Because whether he liked it or not, he’d fallen in love with her, and it seemed he couldn’t just shut that emotion off.

  Striding from the court, Harry made his way down Saffron Hill. Was she still in her house on Queen Anne Street or had she, like Madame Sybila, fled London? The latter seemed most likely, and he realized that by not arresting her, he’d given her the chance to do so. Perhaps because he’d hoped she would.

  But now he’d changed his mind. He wasn’t quite finished with her yet.

  Chapter 19

  Selina and Beatrix had feigned illness to avoid the engagements they’d committed to since Selina had told Harry the truth. Until today. Tired of waiting to see what Harry might do, they’d gone to a Spitfire Society meeting, which had turned out to be beneficial. They’d made a new friend, Lady Satterfield, who would be a useful ally to Beatrix in her quest to impress her father.

  If that could even happen. Selina was still worried that Harry would arrest her and Beatrix, though Beatrix continued to insist that he would have done so already if that was his intent.

  The Spitfire Society meeting had also opened up another avenue of opportunity. The ladies had discussed charities they could support, and Selina had brought up the Magdalen Hospital. Lady Satterfield had been so interested that she’d suggested they take a tour. Selina didn’t have a farthing to give them, but perhaps she could help in other ways. For the first time, she thought of a different future. There was no brother to be reunited with, no sister to see secure—if Beatrix’s father welcomed and took care of her. She could do something that would maybe, hopefully, finally bring her peace.

  Selina had gone to her room after returning home, as had Beatrix. A gentle knock on the door drew her from her reverie.

  Standing from her small dressing table, Selina answered the summons. Mrs. Vining stood over the threshold, her mouth dipped in a rather extreme frown.

  “Mr. Sheffield is here.”

  Selina’s heart hammered as a tremor ran through her. With a nod, she moved past the housekeeper and went downstairs. She paused halfway down. Harry stood in the entry.

  Though it had been only five days since she’d seen him, it felt like much, much longer. He held his hat so she had a clear view of his beautiful tawny eyes with their long lashes and dark auburn brows. He was impeccably dressed in his well-cut but entirely serviceable constable costume—dark gray coat, light gray waistcoat, and black breeches. He’d told her once that he dressed to blend in so his clothing was always either gray, black, or brown. Except for the times she’d seen him at his parents’ house. Then, he’d worn a brighter waistcoat.

  She realized she was staring. Blinking, she swallowed as she finished descending the stairs.

  “Good afternoon,” she said cautiously. “Do you want to come to the sitting room, or should I get my hat and gloves?”

  “The sitting room,” he said tersely.

  He waited for her to precede him. She went to the other side of the room so there could be as much distance between them as Harry could want. Turning to face him, she asked if he wanted to sit.

  “I do not. I came here with a proposition. It’s come to my attention that you know and have worked closely with Luther Frost. I won’t arrest you or Miss Whitford if you tell me how I can find him.”

  “I rather preferred your previous proposal,” she said without thinking, as if they could still flirt with one another.

  His gaze locked with hers, provoking a longing she knew would never be satisfied. At length, he said, “Where can I find Luther Frost?”

  Selina straightened, eager to provide what help she could. “He moves around a bit, but I visited him on Peter Street near Saffron Hill.”

  “He hasn’t been there in some time.” Harry’s voice was cold. “Where else?”

  “Somewhere in Cheapside, maybe?”

  “We looked for him there too, and we have people watching over these places. He’s disappeared, and I need to speak with him.”

  “Why, if you don’t plan to arrest me?”

  “This has nothing to do with you. Unless you were somehow involved with the fire on Saffron Hill four years ago. Perhaps that’s yet another truth you kept from me.”

  Of course. Selina felt foolish for not putting that together. “I had nothing to do with the fire. I wasn’t even in London. I haven’t been here since I was eleven.”

  “But you knew I was looking for Frost, and you didn’t tell me you had a relationship with him.”

  She could lie again and say she hadn’t realized it was the same Frost, but she couldn’t bring herself to say one more thing that wasn’t true. “How could I without divulging who I really was?”

  “Of course. It always comes back to you and your lies. Are you lying still?” He took a step toward her. “I need to find Frost.”

  “I’m not lying—I don’t know where he is.”

  “It’s my understanding that he’s in love with you. You don’t love him in return?”

  “No.” Her chest felt as if it were covered in bricks. “I love you.” The revelation didn’t make her feel any lighter.

  Harry seemed frozen, his gaze glued to hers, his hands tensely gripping the brim of his hat.

  Selina closed the distance between them. “I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” she said softly. “And I had to have help. I don’t know what love feels like.”

  His jaw twitched. “I’ve tried to understand how you could be so deceptive. I don’t know what to believe. You’ve given
me nothing to trust.” His tone was even, without a hint of emotion.

  It would be easier if he were anguished or angry. Selina could deal with that. But this was terrifying. She’d caused him to feel…utterly bereft. “I’m not sure I trust myself. Ever since my employer…” She looked away from him. “I told you what he did. I was changed. I wasn’t me anymore. Not until I met you.”

  The gentle touch of his fingertips beneath her chin drew her to face him once more. He abruptly dropped his hand, as if her flesh had burned him.

  “I can’t imagine the life you’ve led,” he whispered. “Or maybe I can, and it’s too harrowing to contemplate.”

  “The day we met, I pretended to fall. I did that so you wouldn’t go after the child who’d stolen something. I saw myself twenty years ago.”

  “I wondered if that had been a lie too.”

  Selina flinched. “Not everything between us was false. Everything I felt for you, and I hope what you felt for me, was all real.”

  He blinked, his lashes dipping slowly before he looked at her in disbelief. “You can’t think there could be a future for us?”

  “No. But maybe if you understood my past, you could forgive yourself for trusting me.”

  “Forgive myself, but not you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that.”

  “Tell me who you were.”

  “Our parents—Rafe’s and mine—died when I was very small. A man who claimed to be our uncle, but who later confessed he was not, brought us to London. He used us. He would say I was sick, and people gave him money. Then he sold us to Partridge to work as pickpockets.” Selina swallowed. She’d never told anyone the next part, not even Beatrix. “When I was eleven, one of the men who worked for Partridge tried to take me for himself. He said it was time I moved on to my next profession—the only one I was good for. He was drunk, and I fought him. He fell out the window and died. After that, Rafe sent me away to school. He said it wasn’t safe for me in London.”